


Rescued and Bruised

by strikeyourcolors



Series: Control(led) Issues [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Anal Sex, Kidnapping, Light BDSM, M/M, Minor Injuries, Platonic Cuddling, Spanking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 21:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10422015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikeyourcolors/pseuds/strikeyourcolors
Summary: Nightwing gets taken hostage and Jason rides to the rescue. Not because he cares, or anything. It's just no one touches what is uncomfortably his. And, of course, afterward he has to lay claim to it.He didn't expect Dick to stick around, though.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I always swear to get these out faster than once a month and I never do. I'm trying to come to an acceptable conclusion so make your requests now for sex acts or endings. So far I think I have votes for bondage and some kind of functional happy ending. We'll see! As always, your reviews and suggestions are most appreciated.

It's not like graduation from being Robin makes you immune to stupid mistakes. Dick knows it well. He's actually mentally patting himself on the back when he learns that crime rates are down and the rate of arrests and convictions is up. There's a long way to go for Bludhaven, and the statistics aren't recent enough to include Red Hood's activities, but he's proud of his progress. 

It makes him cocky. It makes him stupid. That's what he thinks later. He doesn't remember that he had done another sweep of the city exhausted and high on his apparent success and looking for someone to celebrate with. Jason's warned him he has some project brewing. He still hopes to see him out. Even a glimpse, Dick thinks, to let him know Jason is okay. He had at least extracted a promise that it's nothing to raise Batman's hackles and that Jason isn't experimenting with pharmaceuticals on himself any longer. 

Nightwing is so lost in not thinking about Red Hood that he forgets his warnings. He knows that there's a strip of stores in the Narrows that draws him every time. The long, straight roof of it always looks like a great landing point and a great place to get a running start to fly to the next roof. He's done is countless times. Someone's noticed. Someone's set a trap. Dick _knows_ this. 

Which is why he can't explain how he falls into it. He lands on the roof and rolls, coming up running and thinks that it's not a good idea. By then his foot has hit something and he's slung up into the air with enough force to make his back pop. The cable he stepped into snaps taut and he has less than a second to look at the configuration. A winch, a reinforced metal pole, and some motion censors. It's laughably simple. He doesn't laugh, though. Not when he's flying feet first through the air, upside down, then slammed against a cinder block wall with enough force that it stuns him. 

He's left dangling like a rabbit in a trap. He can't cut the cable with any simple tools. The minute he's touched metal to the line holding him in place he feels the jolt shock through his body, burning his ankle even through his boot and making the fillings in his teeth ache. It's the more dangerous kind of electricity; the kind that can easily send you into cardiac arrest. As it is, it only knocks him unconscious. 

His captors are not amateurs like he'd assumed. He learns that when the cuffs around his wrists prevent his fingers from moving. They bind his legs as well and leave him tied to a column in what he assumes is the building below. The floor is concrete, stained a shade he knows is old blood. There are hooks hanging from the ceiling and he sees containers of lye on the far wall. Definitely they've done this before, just maybe not to a super hero, and suddenly all those unsolved disappearances make more sense. 

Dick doesn't panic. He tests what he can move and finds it isn't a hell of a lot. They've practically mummified his arms and ankles in duct tape. His mask is still on for whatever dumb reason and he can turn his head just enough to trigger a contact button. Or a panic button. But he's definitely not panicking. His stomach clenches a little at having to ask for help, and he wonders how much of that is Jason's influence, but humbled is better than dead, hung up like meat, and dissolved in lye. 

“Nightwing,” Batman says on the line. It's a miracle his earpiece hadn't short circuited.

“I'd appreciate an assist, B,” Dick murmurs. His captors are across the room, and the furtive glances they shoot his way leaves little doubt he's the topic of discussion. They're debating how to kill him for the biggest impact. Dick scans the room, and looks down at his bindings. 

“Fifty minutes to your tracker location,” Batman replies without a shred of emotion in his voice. This is a job. Dick is a job. “I'm keeping the line open, but I won't be active on it.”

“That will be fine,” Dick answers anyway, like Bruce had asked or offered some doubt or reassurance as to his safety. Dick would say that Bruce is impersonal as Batman but actually this is about how he'd reacted to the time when Dick was in highschool and got completely drunk and out of his comfort zone at a party. Calm, practical, and reasonable. At least until the next day when Dick got a binder on safe alcohol consumption and a list of ways he could have better handled the situation. 

One of the abductors approaches. A pretty woman, probably in her forties. Dick has nicknamed her Violet based on the color of her expensive-looking silk shirt. Her fingers reach up, stroking the side of his face, and Dick tries to wiggle his head away. “Not interested in a little tenderness before?” Violet asks with a laugh. She grabs him by the jaw bone, jerking him forward and slamming his head back against the support post. It's a doubled pain and Dick thinks, just for a second, that she's broken his jaw. 

The rest of the gang is men. Of course a pretty, well dressed woman needs to prove herself. She didn't get here by playing nice. “Not from you,” Dick retorts to her earlier question. “You seem like you bring all your dates here.” 

She punches him in the stomach and he knows it's all down hill from here. He twists and writhes, trying to loosen the bonds, trying to get some leverage to fight back. He can't curl, can't protect anything vital. The gang divides up, three men following her while the other three disappear again. “You've been a thorn in our side, Nightwing. You and your little friend.” She kicks him, the heel of her boot cutting into his thigh and Dick swears in surprise. 

“What little friend?” He questions. Get them talking. Get them distracted. He's never had a problem conversing in these situations, has he?

“With the red helmet,” One guy, Dick mentally calls him Smiles because of the look of glee he has, replies. “You get too big for your boots here? Have to call in help from Gotham?”

Dick actually laughs, though it's cut short when the woman punches into his collarbone. Apparently these people haven't heard of taking turns working someone over, but that spaces out the blows for him. “Are you stupid?” Nightwing asks. “Red Hood is a bad guy. He doesn't work with me.”

Asking them if they were stupid was a bad idea. None of the remaining members of this crew have a particularly good angle but it doesn't stop the punches and kicks and elbows from hurting. His suit can take the damage, but they seem to realize that as they go for the less padded areas. He wonders why they think Jason works with him. He wonders why he feels a little guilty he just called Red Hood a bad guy. 

“We got trouble,” Someone calls from what must be a side room. “Upstairs. Cape interrupting our operation.” 

Upstairs. He's in a basement. Has it been fifty minutes? Did Batman arrive early? Dick turns his head and gets a right hook to the jaw from Smiles that has his cheek smashing into the concrete behind him. “Wrap this up,” Violet orders as she strides away and those damn boots of hers leave little bloody prints on the floor. 

Smiles pulls out a gun. Dick's blood goes cold. “Man,” One of his captors protests. Guy looks like a kid, maybe just turned eighteen. “No one's going to believe that's Nightwing if you shoot him first.” 

The muzzle of the gun presses between Dick's eyes and up. The shot is going to blow off the top of his head. It might not even kill him but it's certainly going to take some vital brain matter out. Dick's not sure if it's worse or better that it's not a necessarily fatal shot. _Where there's life, there's hope_ he told Jason and Jason had rolled his eyes and countered _Where there's life there's someone being a drain on resources and emotional ties as you wait for a salad to put itself together in their head._ It had been ridiculous. It had gotten them started on a conversation on their favorite types of salad dressing instead of on brain damage. 

“No one's going to believe us no matter what,” Smiles retorts. “I'm wrapping this up.” The metal is cold against his forehead, pressed so hard his skull hurts and he's sure he'll have an indentation of the barrel. Dick stares at the man, and refuses to shut his eyes. 

That proves to be a mistake. The mask protects him, somewhat, from the flashbang. Searing white light and a pop of sound that's far enough away that Dick at least won't be deafened. Smoke billows out of the air ducts and he hears the thud of a body hitting another before the gun isn't there any more. Dick takes the opportunity to thrash frantically, managing to loosen the tape at his ankles enough to get free. He starts pushing himself up the pillar he's tied to, trying to rub the tape on his wrists loose while he has this opportunity. Beyond that, he really doesn't want Bruce to see that he called in back up based on some tape and a woman in imitation silk. 

It's chaos. Dick can't see through the smoke, spots still dancing in his vision from the previous and sudden bright light. He hears shouting, and gun fire, and definitely the sounds of someone getting a thorough beat down. He's focused on climbing. Out of reach, though not for a bullet, and maybe the friction will be enough to work the tape off. 

A hand grabs his ankle. Dick lashes out, kicking downward, propelling himself out of reach. “Were you a fucking spider monkey in another life?” A voice demands from below him. 

Jason. Jason is here. He just kicked Jason in the face, but at least the helmet is on. Jason still sounds pissed. 

“Hood,” Dick breathes and starts to slide back down the pole, enough for Jason to reach him.

“Surprise,” Jason answers. “Though since you kicked me in the damn face I should leave you here. That's not even counting the fact we don't work together and I'm a bad guy from Gotham.” 

How long had Jason been there? Dick feels like he has marbles in his mouth. It's actually blood, and the fragment of a molar, but that's never stopped him from talking before. Somehow Jason steals away his ability of speech. Jason steals away his ability to think. “Just looking out for your reputation,” Dick says at last.

Jason snorts as he starts sawing through the tape. He jerks Dick's shoulders up maybe a little harder than he needs to but he's furious. Hadn't he warned Dick to stay away? But now here's Dick, bruised and battered, and here's an entire operation that Jason should have been able to wait on. He'd wanted to catch these assholes in the act of taking another young prostitute off the streets. He'd wanted to make them suffer for every injury they dealt out to their victims. 

But seeing the gun at Dick's head? It had done something to him. Jason had moved before he even knew what he was doing. 

“You're a stupid asshole,” Jason spits at Dick as he tears tape away. “What did I tell you? I said, 'Dick, there is a snare on top of that building. Don't get your dumb ass caught in it.' And what did you do? You got your dumb ass caught in it.”

“It was my ankle,” Dick retorts. “Which hurts, by the way.” 

“I'll make you hurt worse than a few bruises and your ankle,” Jason promises, voice gone low to a level that has Dick shivering without meaning to. This is work. This is dangerous work. 

Work. That's when he thinks of Batman. That's when he realizes the line is still open. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“B,” Dick croaks out when he activates the communicator again. But there's no need to activate it. Bruce had an open feed, an open audio if not visual as well. “I'm out. No need to get here.” He feels dizzy, panicked, like Bruce might burst through the door at any moment. “Repeat. No need to ride to the rescue.” 

“What?” Jason snarls. 

Dick disconnects. He doesn't know what else to do. “Couldn't get out,” He tells Jason, wincing as strips of tape are yanked away from his hands. “Called for some assistance.” 

“You didn't call me,” Jason hisses back. “Had to hear through the grape vine that some murder-happy thugs got Nightwing and were working him over.” It's unnerving, not knowing where Jason is looking. But from the tip of his helmet, Dick gathers he's looking him over. 

“I'm not that hurt,” Dick assures him. “Wait. I don't even have the ability to contact you.”

“You shouldn't have contacted him,” Jason argues and the helmet does nothing to mute the fierceness in his tone. 

“Had you rather me get tortured or shot in the head?” Dick demands, turning on him. 

He wishes he could see Jason's face in this moment. He wishes he could know if he was hurting or angry or simply completely irrational. But he knows nothing will ever be easy with Jason. “No,” Jason says quietly, so quietly Dick almost doesn't hear him. It's like he's pained to admit it. 

It's some fucked up thing in his head. Dick is his. His link to, maybe, who he was. Bruce is danger and rage and bad memories. Dick is detached. Dick is something far away, as he was when Jason was a kid and Dick was off leading the Titans. Dick's lip is bleeding. He'll definitely need to see a dentist and he's limping. His thigh looks like it's been stabbed. 

No one is allowed to hurt Dick. No one except him, anyway. No one should be allowed to get close enough to Nightwing to do that. Something is tight and uncomfortable in Jason's chest. “I need to go, if the Big Man is coming to town,” Jason says and forces his hand to lift in a little salute. 

Dick's fingers reach out and curl around his shoulder. Dick's face looks so earnest, damn it, even with the mask still on his face. “You could wait with me,” He says softly. “You came to my rescue, didn't you? Without me needing to call.” 

“The difference in B and in me,” Jason counters. “With me you never need to call. I don't require that level of groveling to get involved. I don't think the best lesson for one of my kids is turning the other cheek when the first got broken by a crow bar.” 

Dick wants to argue. It's so ingrained in him to defend Bruce. To protect Tim from the truth of things, other than that Bruce is sometimes an ass but he has their best interests at heart. He doesn't know what to say to Jason's accusation. 

“I won't wait around, Golden Boy,” Jason says at last. “But good luck explaining the smoothie I made of the brains of that guy who put a gun on you. He liked to play with their victims, too.” Jason turns and starts to walk away. Completely able-bodied and Dick isn't sure if he should be glad or jealous that Jason rescued him without a mark to show for it. 

Dick panics, just a little. This is some kind of bridge. Some kind of turning point in who they are. He'd hoped, one day, for something like this. He could have done without the punching and the maybe broken ankle but he knew Jason would come through for him and he wanted Bruce there to see it. But hadn't he called Bruce off this time?

“Is the building secure?” He asks. “No one needs first aid? Did you call it in?”

Jason gives him a look. Dick swears it's visible even through the mask. 

“Did you kill everyone?” Dick asks. His voice rises a pitch because he thought they were past this. He thought he'd warned Jason off killing in his city. 

Jason laughs. It's not a nice laugh. It's bitter and resentful and Dick hates it. “Everyone's secured and it's being called in as we speak. Gave the kid a twenty to do it, too, so the little shit better earn his keep.”

Dick thinks for all of half a second. “Then I'm coming with you,” Dick announces. He can't believe the words have come out of his mouth. He can't believe he's making a choice...and that it's Jason. It's not duty. It's not Nightwing. It's not Bruce. “Give a guy a hand?” He adds, because he really doesn't want to have to hop his way out of this building. 

Jason's arm slips around his waist, lifting Dick's to his shoulders. He has to stoop, just a little, and there's a part of him that feels giddy at that. It feels that way every time he realizes he's outgrown his older not-brother. It thrills the part of him that had been small and weak and undernourished that he's none of those things now. 

They move slowly to a set of rickety, wooden stairs that can't possibly meet fire code. Dick gets a grip on the railing and hauls himself up without much support from Jason. Maybe he feels he has something to prove. Maybe he needs something to focus on that isn't the fact he's leaving the building. Before the police arrive. Before Batman arrives, if he's coming at all. 

“You sure you want to do this?” Jason asks before they step over the threshold and into the night air. “This might make the shine wear off. He might realize you're mortal like the rest of us.” 

“Clearly,” Dick replies. “You didn't listen hear the fights we had before I became Nightwing and right after.” Jason tips his head in a way Dick is coming to learn means that he's said something unexpected. He mentally preens himself with pride. “Where are we off to, Little Wing?”

“Somewhere no one will ever hear you scream,” Jason answers. 

Dick still isn't sure if he should actually be worried when Jason says things like that. Soon enough he realizes that Jason is returning him to his known safehouse and that, maybe, Jason does actually live here. 

“I have the best first aid for broken bones here,” Jason informs him before removing his helmet and shaking out his hair. It's gotten a little longer and Dick wants to touch it, and not just because it looks a little like a disgruntled sheep. “Sit,” Jason orders and pushes him on a sofa that is definitely new. New to the room, not to use, because it's a little tattered but it's freakishly comfortable as well. 

Dick starts the horrible process of getting his boots off. The ankle is swollen, no question, but he can't feel any kind of break. That doesn't mean a lot, however. “Get the rest of the suit off too,” Jason says. “I want to look at you.” And Dick, honest to God, can't tell if it's meant sexually or if Jason wants to check him for injuries. He's in for a penny anyway, so he goes for the whole pound. Lounging in underwear and a tank top isn't weird for him even among acquaintances. 

Jason returns to kneel by the sofa with a first aid kit. He touches the ankle first and Dick hisses. “Baby,” He informs him, digging fingers in to the overly hot and swollen flesh. “Hairline fracture in the fibia. Bones still aligned. Lucky you.” He tosses a bag of frozen carrots on Dick's ankle and Dick squeaks. “I have cold packs but they were not actually in the freezer. Don't eat those, though. I need them for dinner tomorrow.”

Dick tries to imagine being at the Manor and letting Alfred apply frozen vegetables to his leg. The vegetables there aren't even pre-sliced and packaged like these before being frozen. Alfred might just let the ankle swell before sullying his kitchen in such a way. 

Jason's hands go to pull his tank top up and, despite Dick's noise of protest, off over his head. There's going to be a bruise over his ribs, and one over his collarbone, but the beating actually didn't do much damage. He squirms ticklishly as Jason feels his stomach and diagnoses no internal bleeding. “What stabbed you?” He asks, fingers moving to his thigh. 

“High heel,” Dick replies with a groan. “She kicked me. Heel went right into the skin like she'd sharpened it.” 

Jason pours antiseptic in the wound. Dick bites his lip to keep anything but a gasp from escaping. Sometimes he thinks Jason likes this. Likes tormenting him just enough that it looks like he's helping him. “I'm just going to wrap it. It's not bleeding.” He sets to work with gauze and medical tape. Dick lifts his own hand, reaching to touch Jason, to run fingers through his tangled and dark hair. 

Jason's eyes cut to him and he looks like a dog that might bite. But at last he relaxes. Tension bleeds from him as he establishes that Dick isn't going to be a threat to him.   
That acceptance has Dick panicking. It has him regretting simply disappearing on Bruce. It has him feeling like he made the right decision coming with Jason. Jason _trusts_ him now. That's been worth it, hasn't it? 

“You're still a fucking idiot,” Jason tells him as he packs up the kit, leaving out just a compression bandage to secure Dick's ankle with later. For now it's wrapped around the bag of carrots to keep it secure. “A kindergartner could have seen that trap. I warned you about it, even.” 

“I forgot,” Dick admits, hand lifting to rub the back of his head in embarrassment. “I screwed up. I know. I didn't mean to scare you, either.” 

“I wasn't scared,” Jason argues. “I was more pissed off that you ruined my plans. I'm going to have to catch those fuckers later.” 

They'll be in jail tonight, at least. Dick knows that he stopped Jason from killing them by his presence alone. At least, he thinks he knows that. “Sorry about that, then.” 

“No you're not,” Jason says flatly. “But I'll make you sorry.” Then, Jason kisses him. Jason knows he's being a bit too rough on Dick's no doubt already sore mouth. He can taste the lingering blood. He can feel a slight swelling against the bone. He doesn't care. He needs this. He needs Dick, needs to possess every inch of him, needs to know he's fine. They haven't broken him. Only Jason can do that. 

Dick's already sorry. Not for this moment. He moans into the kiss, gives in like he always does. But in his litany of guilt and things he feels apologetic over, Jason Todd is near the top of his list. Dick will never flagellate himself over a kid wearing his colors, but he'll never forgive himself for the man tearing a path of destruction through the city because no one ever loved him. Dick feels like he's in over his head again, like he's drowning. He still lets Jason sit on the couch, lets himself be drawl over his lap on his belly. He wants the closeness. He craves the approval Jason gives him. He wants to make him happy when he's made him so sad tonight. 

“You've got a perfect ass,” Jason murmurs to him, pulling his boxers down to expose him. Dick rubs a little on his lap. Jason's at least removed his shirt, but the pants are rough against his still mostly soft cock. Jason's hand rubs against his skin and Dick arches up slightly. 

But there's hesitation. Jason looks conflicted. Dick can definitely feel that Jason is very interested in this, but at the same time there's something on his face that makes Dick think he should be running the opposite direction. “Hey,” He says softly, nuzzling into Jason's other arm. “I want this. But we can always do it another night. I'm here whenever you want me.” 

It might be a profound statement if Jason's hand didn't immediately come down against his ass. It stings more than it actually hurts but Dick buries his face against the arm of the couch. Jason hits him again, another few quick swats that seem humiliatingly loud as they echo in the quiet of the room. No one is here, Dick has to remind himself. No one knows that he's over Jason's lap getting spanked like a particularly naughty child. Because Jason isn't _hitting_. He's _spanking_. 

The blows rain down on his ass and thighs, warming the skin, making Dick groan with the sensation. Jason's fingers pause sometimes, pet his abused flesh, then hurt him all over again. He never knows which kind of touch to expect. He rocks himself forward at each impact, rubbing himself on Jason's pants, dick twitching to life crushed between his abdomen and Jason's leg. 

“Only I'm allowed to do this,” Jason tells him. “Only I'm allowed to hurt you this way.” Dick agrees. He wouldn't let anyone else do this to him. He's barely letting Jason, torn between the fact that the younger man is obviously incredibly upset and the fact this is starting to feel damn amazing. “Repeat it,” Jason hisses, fisting the hair at the back of his head and giving it a sharp tug. 

Dick moans. “Only you do this,” He repeats. “Only you're allowed.” 

He feels Jason hard against him. Having his erection trapped in the confines of his pants must be painful by now. “You're mine,” He whispers. Dick licks his lips and gets a vicious shake of his head again. “Say it, Dickie.” 

“I'm yours,” Dick says. He squirms on his lap. “Jason, please!” He's not sure what he's begging for. For Jason to keep hitting him or for Jason to touch him gently. For Jason to kiss him or for Jason to sink his teeth into his skin. Jason always has his life turned upside down. He doesn't know where his desires end and Jason's begin. 

“Tell me you're sorry,” Jason growls and Dick doesn't want to think of where he's heard that tone before, but he certainly responds to it. “Tell me you'll never be stupid again.” 

It's not a promise Dick could make clear-headed. “Sorry!” He yelps, his entire body tense and aching and wanting. “I'll never...never be stupid again.” He can't breathe. He grinds against Jason's pants. “Fuck, Jason.” 

“God,” Jason groans with a reverence. “I could have lost you tonight.”

Before Dick can process that, before he can ask what it means, Jason is literally pushing him off his lap. Dick barely manages to prevent his actually broken ankle from slamming into the floor and Jason, fucking Jason, simply stands up and steps over him. He makes sure the sole of his boot brushes over Dick's already welted skin. 

Dick knows Jason needs the reassurance. Positive reinforcement, Alfred had said long ago. It was sorely lacking from Jason's life. He needs to feel wanted, he needs to be appreciated. He's losing Jason, in this moment. The situation is spiraling out of control and Dick knows he needs to seize control. He has to settle this, settle Jason, before things can get dangerous.

“Help me up,” Dick orders him and tries to sound confident and not like he's a whimpering pile of human with more bruise than skin, his boxers still caught around his knees. “And take me to bed. You're going to fuck me.” 

Jason stares at him like he's grown a second head. Dick pushes himself up on his arms, getting his knees under him but not daring to roll over. The fact that he's half hard feels dirty and incriminating, like it had his first time here. Except now he feels guilty because he's only half hard; not because he's hard at all. “What?” Jason demands at last. But it's not a no.

“I want _you_ to fuck _me_.” Dick enunciates every word and smiles. He resists the urge to run his tongue over the broken tooth he can feel in his mouth. “But not on the floor. There has to be some kind of rule about not fucking someone on the floor when they have a broken bone.” He manages to rise successfully to his knees, pausing a moment to pull his underwear the rest of the way off. There's some trepidation inside him. He's been giving Jason what he wants, instead of what he needs. Jason has a history of balking at things he needs. You can't tame Jason Todd. You can only keep him for a while. Dick's not sure where it leaves them if Jason walks away. 

Well, it leaves him naked on the floor with a red ass and a broken ankle. Emotionally he's sure he'll be worse off. 

“Up,” Dick instructs, relieved beyond measure when Jason comes close enough for him to grab onto. He grips Jason's arm and Jason pulls him to a standing position, keeping him steady on one foot. “On the bed. I'll even let you spank me again.” And, to add something ridiculous, Dick winks at him. 

“You love it,” Jason claims, but there's a strange look on his face. It's shy. It's almost sweet. It's a stark contrast to the way Jason guides him to the bed, nearly throwing him on it and slapping his ass on the way down. 

Jason is uncertain. Jason hates being uncertain. Dick has never tried this, never tried wresting control back from him. He likes it. He likes the proof that Dick Grayson wants him. _Him._ He loathes it. He loathes that Dick Grayson is taking something else away from him and acting like he can do it better. 

He grabs a bottle of lube and a condom and shucks his pants. He still wants to fuck him, regardless. That will probably never change. He wishes the choice was only a matter of thinking with his sex drive but he knows there's something lingering there. There's an ember of feeling he would be all too happy to completely bank. 

“The carrots are not staying in bed with us.” Jason reaches to pull the bag off Dick's ankle and toss it to the side. “I think the carrots had rather watch, instead. And maybe we should secure your leg before we start.” 

“Ooh,” Dick coos sweetly, fluttering his eyelashes. He can't help the grin that spreads across his face. In these moments, he adores Jason. His dorky jokes and gentle nature. “Voyeuristic carrots and securing a broken bone. You always say the sweetest things to me.” 

“Keep talking,” Jason replies as he wraps the bandage as quickly as possible around Dick. He wonders how badly erections actually hinder you from performing medical tasks because this is certainly the worst wrap job he's ever done. “I'll make sure to bump it every chance I get.” 

Dick laughs. Jason stupidly loves the sound. “I have a request,” Dick murmurs, all sweet submission again as he rolls on his side and presents his ass. Jason stupidly loves that ass, too. The swell and the shape. The muscle. The fact the skin is red where Jason's done his work. His mouth goes suddenly dry. “Finish your spanking,” He suggests and maybe he is a bit of a masochist, because he really, relaly wants Jason to smack him a few more times. Okay, obviously he is. He can think about it later like he does most other complicated parts of his life. “Then turn me over and let's fuck. Face to face.”

It's a test. Dick almost holds his breath waiting for a reply. He resists the urge to grin, to throw in an added barb or a suggestive wiggle. Jason has to make the choice, and Dick knows whatever he decides is going to factor into where they go from here. Not just for tonight. 

“Fuck,” Jason says. It's what he wants. Exactly what he wants. But now that Dick's suggested it, he doubts. 

“Jay,” Dick says simply. 

Jason kisses him. He has to sprawl beside him to do it. He has to bend his neck at an uncomfortable angle. But his lips are on Dick's and he makes a noise that is close to a whine. He feels a burn behind his eyes that he ignores, pulling Dick to lie on his side. Jason's left arm is the only one free, but that's okay. They're all somewhat ambidextrous. 

If only Bruce knew what they could do with that training. 

He brings his hand down on Dick's ass again. Dick gasps into his mouth. His cock hardens again, flagging erection coming back to life. What they're doing is fairly tame by their standards but Dick basks in it. In the touch, pressed entirely against Jason. In the spark of pain, bright and almost clean in comparison to the aches slowly settling into his body. 

In Jason, soft and yielding, even if he's currently exacting a kind of violence on him. Nothing makes Jason more relaxed than that does. 

The spanking works him, embarrassingly enough, into a frenzy. His butt actually _hurts_ but not enough to make the skin raw. It's hypersensitive, like the minutes after a first degree burn. Something feels off, but not necessarily pained just yet. 

He's sure he arches eagerly against Jason's fingers when one slick digit enters him. Jason pauses, so Dick breathes encouragement, kisses his jawline and remembers not to go for the neck. “That's good,” He whispers, praises in an odd role reversal. “I want you inside me so bad right now, Jason.”

It earns him another finger and a moan from Jason's lips that sounds almost like his name. Jason stops then, pauses, and Dick realizes that it's Jason's attempt to be gentle. The last time they did this, Jason hadn't prepared him. Once again the ugly, jealous part of Dick wars with the concerned and he wonders how much experience Jason has. “Curl them,” Dick murmurs, knowing he's giving Jason the keys to his undoing. “You can move them. I'm fine.” 

But Jason's fingers are kind of big. Dick drapes one leg over Jason's hips to give him more room to work, to open himself a little more. Jason obeys, for once, without a protest or snarky quip. Jason curls his fingers and Dick comes to life against him. He chokes on a pretty moan that Jason is sure he'll be hearing in every wet dream from now until when he dies again. His teeth sink into his lower lip and he gives a full body shudder. 

Jason has power back again, just like that. He can control Dick. He can make him respond like he wants him to. He pushes his fingers deep, twists them, drags them back out. He listens to the noises Dick makes, plays him like an instrument. His mouth trails from Dick's lips, down, over to kiss that bruise on his collarbone. A push of fingers here and Dick groans. A curl of them there and Dick keens and rubs himself frantically against him. Jason is harder than he's ever been. 

Taking Dick down to his level, as always, is the greatest turn on for Jason. He fingers him wet and open, spreads him enough to take a third finger as Dick whimpers sweetly against his ear. “I'm going to come if you keep this up,” Dick whispers to him. “I want to hold off. Want to come with you fucking me.” 

It's everything Jason wants. He doesn't know how to deal with getting what he wants. “Is that right? Maybe I should have kept that cock ring for you if you can't control yourself,” Jason taunts. He pulls his fingers out. Dick squirms at the loss. 

He rolls him to his back, enjoying the sharp gasp as Dick's ass hits the covers. His fingers are laughably clumsy as he tears open the condom wrapper and rolls it on. Jason feels like it's been too long since he's done this, like he could get off just seeing Dick. Dick is watching him with those gorgeous, blue eyes. Dick's lips are swollen. There's a blush on his cheeks. Jason made him look that way. Jason owns him in this moment. 

Jason's suddenly not sure he can fuck him face to face. It's too intimate. Dick is _staring_ at him like he's something wonderful, instead of something broken.

“Little Wing,” Dick says, and a brief wince passes over his face as he tries to prop both his legs up and remembers he can't. “Jason.” He reaches for him. What choice does Jason have? He slides between Dick's thighs. 

One push of his hips and he's inside, sheathed completely in tight, slick heat. Jason shuts his eyes and lets the pleasure run along his spine. He lets it build inside him like a wave, lets it mix with the emotions that have seethed inside him like an angry sea. 

Dick thinks Jason has never looked more incredible. Fingers trace his features, push black hair out of his eyes, and Dick can't help but watch. Has Jason always looked this focused? This pleasured? This tortured? He wants to ease him, wants to wipe away any negative mark the years have left on his face.

He pulls him down for another kiss. Jason wastes no time in moving and Dick wraps his good leg around Jason's muscled waist. He's not going to last long, with Jason scraping every nerve inside him raw. Penetration is shallower this time than last, at this angle, but it hits all the best points inside him. Every movement of Jason's hips makes fireworks burst in his vision.

Jason stares down at Dick. At the bright, half lidded eyes. At the beautiful features contorting with pleasure. His heart pounds in his ears. Ecstasy crests, steals his breath, brings the perfection underneath him into hyper focus. “I hate you,” Jason whispers, his mouth against Dick's. “I fucking hate you.”

“What?” Dick is dazed. Dick is slow to understand, blinking even as he guides Jason to move deeper, faster into him. Jason kisses him again to silence the question on his lips. 

“I hate how perfect you are,” Jason continues. He can't stop it now, this confession that has been building for years. Since he first met him, if he's honest. He thrusts into Dick, hard, enjoying the way his eyes momentarily roll back in his head. Dick is a slave to pleasure, a servant to his body, and Jason exploits it. “I hate how everyone compares me to you. I hate that the world falls at your feet and you don't even have to ask. I hate that people love you.” Another roll of his hips and Dick tightens around him. Hands fall on his shoulders, nails rake over unprotected skin. 

Dick meets his eyes, and there's fire in his gaze. “I hate that you died,” Dick hisses back. “I hate that you didn't come home.” It's something he can't blame Jason for; it's simply what happened. But in this moment, pinned, with Jason's cock thick and hard and fucking deep inside him, he wants to say it. He needs to make Jason understand how much that had hurt.

“Fuck you.” Jason sounds like he might laugh or like he might start crying. He moans instead, pressing his face into the curve of Dick's neck before he starts pounding into him. His fingers dig into Dick's hips, lift him up for a better angle. “Fucking hate you,” He repeats. “Fucking hate that I can't fucking hate you.” 

He slams inside. Dick screams. He screams and shatters and comes apart as he spills between their bodies. His balls empty over his stomach, over Jason's, making his vision waver. Jason keeps fucking him, keeps the brutal pace, and Dick cries out again. Jason hates him. Jason doesn't. Jason's going to punish him. Jason doesn't even know why. It's all too much to comprehend in the moment, all too much over the way Jason's body moves with his.

Jason chases his own end. He feels Dick go tense, feels him arch up. Dick is still a slut. His body begs for the stimulation no matter what, and Jason can definitely appreciate that. Dick's eyes are shut as he comes, but his mouth is open. It forms a perfect circle and Dick makes the most perfect sound and Jason fucks him even harder through the orgasm. 

He doesn't want it to end. He doesn't want this soaring feeling running through him to go away. He doesn't want to deal with the aftermath. But he has to. 

“Jason,” Dick moans, voice raw, and Jason loses it. He comes hard, pushing as deep as he can inside Dick's clenching body. Dick whines again and it just drags it out until Jason is trembling, shaking, collapsing on top of the older man. 

Dick's fingers go instantly to Jason's hair. He pets him, strokes him, holds him close and lets Jason's head rest against his shoulder. “It's alright,” He whispers to him. “Everything's alright, Jay.” He's surprised to find that he's getting choked up. Jason's words sink in, burrow under his flesh. They hurt, but Jason is hurt more. 

Jason shakes apart in his arms, still inside him. It's a matter of minutes before he pulls himself together but Dick cherishes every moment they have like this. Not over the fact Jason is in misery, of course not, but over the fact he gets to witness it. He gets to hold him, and comfort him. He gets to be there for Jason, to touch him, and Jason doesn't run like he has so many times before. 

The spell is broken when Jason pulls out of him. Jason makes a disgruntled noise and Dick winces as well. Jason is off the bed in an instant and Dick hopes he's not going to make a run for the door. Jason doesn't. He removes the condom and throws it in the trash. He tosses Dick a towel, and he pulls on his own underwear and a shirt. Jason hides beneath clothes when he's insecure. Dick doesn't argue. Dick only watches, and tries to guess what Jason is feeling.

“You're a good fuck,” Jason comments bluntly, that smarmy grin on his face and Dick kind of wants to slap the expression off. “Of course, I would be too if I got fucked that much.”

Dick laughs. There's no other way to respond to something so typically Jason, and so openly baiting. He wipes himself off with the towel and drags himself out of the bed, hunting for his uniform and the communicator left inside. Jason hovers nearby, arms extended like he's going to catch him if he falls, but he doesn't offer to help. Dick still can't put any weight on his ankle, but he manages to hop back to the couch.

It would be dumb to have a civilian phone on him as Nightwing. Dick has it linked to the communicator to have the best of both worlds. He taps in a code, triple checking to make certain the locator function is turned off. 

“Dick.” Bruce's voice on his voice mail. He's growling. “Where are you?”

Dick tries not to look as horrified as he feels. He hopes Jason can't hear anything. Had he really abandoned Bruce? Had he really kept the live feed going even to Jason's arrival on the scene? 

He moves on to the next message. “I'm going back to Gotham.” That's it. Bruce again. Dick types out a quick message that's maybe more apologetic than he means it to be. Jason watches him the entire time.

“You didn't choose me,” Jason says, and he sounds a little heartbroken. Enough that Dick tosses the communicator to the side to give Jason his full attention. He's done with the text anyway. Bruce does deserve to know that Dick is alive, Dick thinks, even if Jason would think otherwise. 

Dick limps to Jason, wrapping his arms around him, leaning against him. Jason's skin is chilly to the touch, but Dick burrows against him anyway. Jason doesn't respond to the hug, but he doesn't pull away either. That's as much progress as Dick can hope for. “It's not about choosing,” Dick says. “But, yeah. Tonight I chose you.” 

“Then tomorrow you might choose him,” Jason counters. 

Dick shrugs. He kisses the corner of Jason's mouth and tries not to remember things said in the heat of the moment. “Tomorrow, you might choose your gun over me. We never know. But that's where we are right now.” Hopefully not where they'll stay. He shifts and grimaces. “You think we can make this a foursome? I'm going to need another bag of vegetables for my ankle before it swells any more than it already has.”

Jason, finally, cracks a smile. It's exhausted and entirely Jason. Dick wants a picture of it. He wants to keep it in his mind for whenever he thinks he's doing the wrong thing. “It's only a foursome if we fucked the carrots and are going to fuck the new vegetable. Right now it's just normal sex with some exhibitionism.” 

“God,” Dick says, flopping back onto the couch and not caring that he's still naked. “How much research have you been doing? I feel like I've corrupted you.” 

Jason tosses the carrots back in the freezer and retrieves a cold pack. It adds to Dick's opinion that Jason actually lives here; who keeps vegetables at a safe house? “You couldn't corrupt me if you tried, Dickiebird.” He sits on the foot of the couch, waiting for Dick to lift his leg before carefully settling it on his lap. “Your naked ass is sitting on my couch,” Jason points out. “You didn't put a towel down or anything.”

“The towel has come on it.”

“Still.” Jason sighs. He presses the cold pack to Dick's ankle and starts to wrap it again. He does a much better job this time. He wants to focus on nothing but keeping the bone from shifting out of place.

They don't talk about what they said. They don't talk about what happened. Dick isn't sure if he's relieved or if he's frustrated. He's not sure if, once he leaves this place, he'll ever come back. He's not sure if he'll find the room empty if he does, and Jason moved on. He doesn't think too hard on if that will be a relief or not at this point. 

“You should probably stay off your ankle for a few hours and keep it elevated,” Jason suggests as he clips the bandage into place. “You could stay here until you're ready to go.” 

Dick would argue that's what he's always done, but it's not true. He's always stayed until Jason was ready for him to go, then he's gone. Jason decides when he arrives and when he leaves. Jason decides the amount of time they've spent together.

And Jason looks on the verge of saying something nasty. He has the comment ready on the tip of his tongue if Dick scoffs at the invitation. Dick might be naked, but Jason is the one who is exposed. Dick sits up, glad he can squirm close enough to kiss Jason's cheek, even with his ankle still in the man's lap. “I'd like that, Jay.” He pauses, because this has gotten way too serious suddenly. “Do you think you can help me put on my shorts?”

“I suppose,” Jason says carefully, “That I can do that.” He grabs them off the floor and Dick swears he sees that secret smile curling at the corner of Jason's lips. Jason never lifts his head, so he can't say for certain. 

Tomorrow there will be hell to pay. Tomorrow he'll get to review footage and make a few painful phone calls. Tomorrow he should probably even go to Gotham and let Alfred verify that he's not completely out of commission and hope Jason didn't spank him low enough on his thighs that the marks will be obvious. 

Tonight he has Jason, who retrieves a disgustingly sugary sports drink for him and turns on the television so Dick can wind down. Jason who let him cuddle him on the couch and who has a perhaps frighteningly intimate knowledge of exactly what Dick does to get himself in the right mindset to sleep. 

Jason Todd, who has a nightlight that is shaped like a star that he turns on before they go to bed. Dick says nothing, so Jason doesn't either. He crawls into bed with Dick and scoots as far away as possible from him. 

“I don't get cuddle time?” Dick asks, trying not to be wounded. 

Jason snorts. “Does cuddle time ever end for you?”

Dick considers. “No. I could just keep going,” He admits. He's flat on his back with his ankle raised on some pillows, so it might be awkward to cuddle anyway unless Jason decides to curl up with his head on his chest. He doesn't think that's going to happen. “I like the contact.” 

Jason's back is still to him. “One hand,” Jason concedes eventually. “You may put one hand on me, but if it moves anywhere I don't like then I reserve the right to rip it off.” 

“Off your body or off my arm? That's a very important distinction.” 

Jason huffs. Dick might as well be glowing with pride, because that's pretty close to a laugh. “Go to sleep. Goldie. You're going to hurt even worse when you wake up and I'm throwing your ass out the minute I have enough sleep to function.” 

That's a lie. They can function on no sleep. Dick won't point that out. He's half asleep, mentally rehearsing his apology to Tim for getting temporarily captured, when Jason speaks again. 

“I don't really hate you,” Jason says into the darkness. 

Dick's smile makes his lip split open all over again. He doesn't care as he stares at the ceiling. “No?”

“No,” Jason confirms. “But most of the time you're an insufferable prick.” 

Dick can live with that. He goes to sleep happy.


End file.
